


Might Just Make It

by westolethelight (Llama)



Category: The Libertines
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:14:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23338969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama/pseuds/westolethelight
Summary: "We're not cancelling the fuckin' encore," Carl says.
Relationships: Carl Barat/Pete Doherty
Comments: 2
Kudos: 54
Collections: Peter and Carl fics to lift our spirits during self-isolation





	Might Just Make It

**Author's Note:**

> For the 'post-gig, first closet they can find' prompt. Apologies for the terrible title, it's 4am!

Peter has been accused many times of living in the past.

Not just the old time songs, the language, the longing for a more innocent, more free world, but his own past. It's true he has a tendency to pick at the scabs of long ago wounds, but it's about understanding what happened, not about revisiting.

He likes to argue that he lives in the present. Not for the sake of arguing: well, not just for that. It's true, mostly. He likes the smell of the sea air, even in Margate. He likes the sun on his skin, the cramp in his legs he gets these days when he runs, giddy, along the shore with the dogs. He likes being in the moment, now there are plenty of good moments to be had.

This moment though, finishing up the penultimate song in the set, he's not fully in either. He's present on stage with the band, with the Libertines, of course, and part of him is always conscious of the past when he's out here. Years and years that blur into one picture. It's just that right now, it's been over an hour, and Carl has stripped down from leather jacket, to shirt, to vest, to gleaming golden skin, and Peter can't look at anything but him, or think about anything except what's going to happen when he has Carl all to himself.

 _God_ , the things he's going to do to him. Happy post-gig Carl is a dazzling feast to be enjoyed to the utmost, and Peter is going to _gorge_ himself on it. 

Drops fly from Carl's hair as he leaps, shakes his head back and catches Peter's eye, grinning wildly. It's late enough that he's cast off his serious, intense demeanour; he's having fun, and he knows what's going through Peter's mind as he always does. Knows that Peter is thinking about bundling him off stage as soon as they've banged out 'Don't Look Back into the Sun', shoving him up against the nearest solid wall and kissing him within an inch of his life.

Peter came close to giving in a couple of songs back and just going for the snog. Carl always flirts during 'Katie', dancing his way across the stage, grabbing Peter's head and putting that mouth, that delicious smoke and alcohol-flavoured mouth right up to his. If Carl hadn't had such a grip on his hair, Peter would have been in there, fuck that Carl doesn't want to make a public spectacle, even though Peter would bet every last penny they have between them everyone out there knows exactly how things are with them.

It isn't going to just be a stolen minute or two either, like it used to be long ago. He can have all night to savour the taste of that mouth, to lick every drop of salty, champagne-soaked skin clean. To hold those skinny hips down and swallow Carl's cock, sneak another orgasm out of him to add to his collection of Carl delights, turn him over and bury his face--

\--fuck. He realises he's been nodding along to Gary's beat on automatic, and he's not sure where they're up to or which mic he's supposed to be heading for, and Carl is laughing again and yes, he still knows exactly why. 

"Fuck me," he laments, moving in close enough for their faces to collide just for a moment.

"Later," Carl murmurs, mouth pressed up against Peter's ear, and that's it, Peter's _cancelling_ the encore.

"We're not cancelling the fuckin' encore," Carl says, though he's happy enough for Peter to be dragging him off the stage, down the corridor and after a few false starts, into what turns out to be the smallest (but thankfully emptiest) dressing room the place has. It's barely bigger than a broom cupboard.

Peter wouldn't care if it _was_ a broom cupboard.

It doesn't have a lock, so Peter shoves Carl against the door and kisses him, hot and wet and messy. 

Carl only holds back for a moment, a token protest, then his hands are sliding under Peter's shirt, warm and firm on his back.

He's all in, just like Peter knew he would be. 

He has Carl's jeans open and is tugging them off his hips with his underwear in seconds, and Carl isn't stopping him.

"I'm not fucking you in here," Carl says, but he's always saying stuff like that. Peter stopped paying attention a long time ago. 

All that matters is that Carl's cock is hot and hard and _there_ in the palm of Peter's hand, and Carl's eyes are dark, pupils blown out wide in the shadow between their faces. Peter tightens his grip, and Carl bucks his hips, teeth biting down on his lower lip. Peter lets him have a couple of good, hard strokes, then leans in to kiss that gorgeous mouth open again, run his tongue over the indent he's left in his lip.

"We--" Carl gasps out, still thrusting unevenly into Peter's hand. "We don't have long."

Peter nuzzles his cheek, rests his forehead against Carl's for a moment. "They can wait." Then he grins, because Carl's gaze has dropped to his mouth now, heavy-lidded and lust-addled, and it's Peter's turn to know exactly what's on _Carl's_ mind.

He kisses Carl's belly on the way down, gets distracted briefly by the trail of dark hair tickling his nose, and when his knees hit the floor Carl is ready for him, hand guiding his cock to rub against Peter's lips, smearing wetness on his cheek and chin as Peter dodges him, teasing, with a chuckle.

"Peterrrr..." Carl groans, and he's biting his lip again, a flush high on his cheeks. 

"Shhhh," Peter whispers, breathing on the head of Carl's cock and making Carl buck his hips again, but that's it, he's done teasing. He lets Carl guide his cock into his mouth, sucking his lips tight the way Carl likes, letting him push his way in, inch by inch.

Then it's his turn.

Carl's hand drops away as Peter's fingers run confidently down the shaft, hold it steady while he sucks and strokes. He takes him in deep enough that his nose is pressed against damp, sweaty dark hair over and over again, and Carl is making strangled sounds above him, clutching at Peter's hair every time his cock hits the back of Peter's throat.

Peter _loves_ those sounds. 

He loves it when Carl can't stay in control too, when the gasps end in a "Fffuckkk," and he's coming down Peter's throat saying "Sorry, sorry, oh fuck." 

It's not going to be like that tonight though, because Carl's hands are plucking at Peter's shoulders, trying to pull him up, so Peter releases him and accepts the hand Carl offers to help him to his feet. Carl kisses him then, licking the taste of himself out of Peter's mouth, greedy as the fingers that unfasten Peter's trousers, shove them down unceremoniously to get to his cock.

"Both together," he breathes, wrapping Peter's big hand around both of them and giving him a sweet, giddy smile, and every time Peter thinks he can't love this man more, there's a moment like this that proves him wrong.

They're a few minutes late back on stage, but all the crew carefully ignore Peter's scuffed and dusty knees, the incipient beard burn on his face, and the couple of suspicious damp spots on Carl's jeans. Nobody's daft enough to ask where the hell they've been.

John sighs, Gary rolls his eyes, and Carl just shrugs sheepishly at them, but there's a satisfied smirk lurking underneath it, as well there might be. Peter steals John's beer, shares it first with Carl and then the crowd, and that's it, they're off again. 

Four more songs to blast their way through while Peter dreams, and plans, and entertains the wildest fantasies, not just for the next few hours, but for a long time into the future.

This time, he thinks, looking over at Carl to see him grinning back, they might just make it.


End file.
